Fever of the Soul
by Kaiakara
Summary: Written while sick, J/VJ and sickness. Third Chapte: Javert goes out in the snow and Valjean does not approve. This fanfic will be added as the muse speaks to me. They will not be connected unless I state so. Mostly just oneshots. WARNING: SLASH THEME
1. Chapter 1

**Time: 6 minutes**

**Music: Les Miserables**

**Words: 332 **

Through the haze that came with the fever, he thought he saw the far-off face of Valjean, a brown blob that could barely be called a face. Every once in a while, the wet cloth on his forehead would be changed and he knew who was there. It was obvious. Not hard to guess.

When he was in a rare moment of coherence, Javert slowly reached out to grab Valjean's wrist, his large hands trembling. He was very sick, and knew it. "Valjean," he said softly, deep voice cracking from a dry throat "As soon…" he trailed off, coughing heavily. Whatever it was he had he was sure he would never want it again. "As soon as I am better, I am going…to arrest you." He felt a pair of lips press against his forehead, the fuzz of a well trimmed beard pressing against his feverish skin in a way that hurt immensely more than he could ever say.

"I am sure you will, Inspector. Now go back to sleep." Not wanting to comply, Javert managed to get out a half-hearted protest before the sickness claimed him again, sucking him back into the depths of its darkness.

He would never mention it to anyone, but he was glad Valjean was there to nurse him back to health. At least it meant someone would be there to see him die. And if he did get better (which the old convict knew the younger man would) he was going to arrest his prey with twice the fury he had already vowed to arrest him with.

And so Jean Valjean sat by his bedside, waiting out the fever with a wet cloth and occasional sips of thin soup or water, his saintly heart more full than ever by taking care of the Inspector. And Javert was none the wiser to the love from the other man, struggling on the verge of life and death as he was.

Valjean decided it was for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: A Happy Family**

**Words: 825**

**Time: 20 minutes**

**Music: Les Miserables**

He sat with the girl's head in is lap, cradling her. She was very sick, and had been so for a while.

"Any signs of recovery tonight, Valjean?" He looked up at his partner, a tall Inspector of the Paris Police. Jean Valjean ran a hand distractedly through his graying brown hair, shrugging.

"Her fever went down, thank the lord." He sighed and pushed the little girl's dark brown curls away from her face. She had been an orphan, and he had promised her mother to care for her. It was the sort of thing he often did, and Javert usually complained about. The younger man never understood the saintly heart of the older, preferring his own façade of a cold-hearted man. Valjean, however, knew the truth. Javert was really deeply loyal to those he cared about, and had more love in him than a hundred other men. "I think she may be getting better." Javert stepped in from the doorway, his blonde hair haloing in the light from the hall. He took two strides of his long legs and knelt beside the other two members of his small family, and sighed, brushing a finger through the girl's hair.

"Cosette…" She stirred, movement under her lashes. Javert's impassive expression turned rapidly to one of sour milk.

"Please, Javert." Valjean said softly, his chocolate eyes warm with care. "Do not wake her. She needs her sleep so badly." The Inspector sighed and removed his hand from the girl's face, instead resting it on his husband's knee. It was a pleasant thought for both men that gay marriage had finally become legal in France, while across the sea in America the battle for rights grew worse with every passing day. The twenty-first century held many advances in personal rights, but so far marriage rights were not one of them.

"She worries me." The tall man finally said, his green eyes murky with thought. "I hate seeing her so sick." He looked up at Valjean, blonde hair flopping across his face. It was in its usual ponytail at the back, but his bangs were much looser than usual. He was worried.

"I know, Javert." The older man said, sighing, looking at their adopted daughter with a tired hope. "But the doctor said it would pass if we just kept the medicine up then she will heal fine." He stretched as best he could, but small hands fisted in his shirt, holding him down. "She certainly does have quite a grip, though. Must be getting better." Valjean held the role of the mother as best he could, and Javert made a perfectly fine father figure for the girl. They were a happy little family, except when Cosette was sick.

"Valjean, go eat." Javert said, wrapping his strong arms around the rest of his family, holding them both like the world depended on it. "I'll stay with her." Reluctantly, the older man pried off the girl's hands and handed her sleeping figure to Javert, who picked her up without a second thought.

"Thank you." He whispered, looking back over his shoulder as the tall man tucked his daughter into bed, the covers around her shoulders, one hand on her forehead and a look of concentration on his face. Javert said nothing in response, and Valjean left to go eat a small dinner.

Cosette was often sick. She was born with a rare immune deficiency, and was off and on near death. Her two fathers took turns watching and caring for her, Valjean in charge while Javert was out on patrol and Javert in charge while Valjean worked at his art studio. Jean Valjean was a world reknown artist, and devised his own schedule. That was why he was with Cosette so much.

When he had finished eating and returned to the room to check on his husband and daughter, Valjean paused in the doorway, tucking a long strand on brown hair behind his ear, a soft smile on his lips.

Javert had curled up beside Cosette, and the two of them were asleep in the small bed, their hair spilling across the pillow in a puddle of blonde and brown, Cosette's sickly pale skin a perfect compliment to the Inspector's dark skin. Valjean took a step back, and closed the door as softly as he could behind him, leaving the two to sleep.

Well, maybe he could work on a painting of them tonight. All he had to do was find his easel and his paints. In fact, that sounded like a wonderful idea.

Javert and Cosette were none the wiser, sleeping curled together, until the Inspector later saw the finished painting and ranted and raved while Valjean happily hung it in the hallway, Cosette sitting in her seat by the living room fire and giggling at her parents, book on her lap forgotten and television off.

In the end, Javert gave in and allowed the picture to be hung.


	3. Chapter 3

He undid the scarf slowly, his hands moving as if they had been weighted down by stones. He felt hot. So very hot. He dropped the scarf to the floor, threw his tophat onto the hat stand (miraculously, it stuck for once) and unclasped his coat, letting it slide off of his broad back before he hung it on the coatrack as well. Kneeling, he pulled off his boots, his soaked socks, and was half-way through shucking his sweater when the door creaked open.

Spinning around in surprise, Javert stared at the man standing in the door.

"Look at you. You're sick, and you're going out in this storm." Valjean stepped into the room and closed the door, going to stoke the fire while keeping the cup of tea balanced in his other hand, not spilling a drop. Javert, now assured that the man who had suddenly opened the door was one he trusted, continued to pull of his sweater and throw it, too, on the floor. Normally he was a very clean person, but he just didn't have the energy tonight.

Coughing into the back of his hand before he continued disrobing, Javert stopped as soon as he felt large hands on where his shirt buttons were.

"Drink your tea, young man." Valjean undid the buttons for him, and wrested of the task, the Inspector did as he was asked.

"I'm not sick, just feeling under the weather." Valjean raised one white eyebrow, and Javert knew that there was no way he was winning this argument. He was going to get put on bed rest no matter what he tried.

Valjean, clearly knowing he had the upper hand, pressed one hand to the taller man's forehead and one to his own, and after a few seconds shook his head. "You have a fever and you have been coughing all day, let alone who knows what else is wrong." He took back the now empty tea cup, placed it on the bedside table, and helped Javert finish undressing. It surprised the younger man that almost all of his clothes were soaked.

Before he could protest, Valjean showed a surprising display of speed despite his age and managed to not only get Javert undressed and redressed in warm pajamas, but bundled into bed with a fire roaring and another cup of tea in his hands, and a nice bed-warmer in the form of a white-haired old man in a matter of minutes.

"I'm not sick–" Javert began to protest again, but Valjean rolled his eyes and put out the candle.

"Go to sleep, Javert."

That's what he did.

**A/N: I'm back! It sometimes seems that I get my best inspiration when I'm in bed sick. I currently have Strep Throat, but it appears, Javert may be getting it too. Expect updates in other lands soon!**


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